As we're a 'mixed' family - I'm Catholic, the Mrs. is Lutheran, and most of our friends fall in one camp or the other - a few folks asked me what to expect at my son's baptism.
"It'll be like the end of The Godfather," I told them, "but in English and minus the killing."
But it started out a little more like Miracle on Danny's Street: we retrieved our daughters from their sleepover at Grandma's, dressed everyone in their Sunday best, and made it to the church with a half hour to spare.
Even with that head start we got there after Lisa’s brother and sister-in-law, the Godparent’s to be, both of whom seemed excited and honored.
There we discovered that one of the associate pastors would be leading the mass. This was fine by us; he’s a friendly, entertaining priest who, to continue the movie theme, has more than a passing resemblance to Fr. Karras from The Exorcist.
He introduced himself before the mass and asked that we all accompany him to the sacristy. There he completed the naming ceremony in private and gave us some instructions.
"Don't worry about the choreography," he said. "I'll take care of that. We’ll do the ceremony after the homily. You follow along, and when it's over I’ll hold Parker up like Kunta Kinta and introduce him to the congregation. Simple."
It was simple, and at the risk of being sappy, it was beautiful. Throughout the mass Fr. referenced Parker, offering prayers and best wishes for his future. His homily centered on the idea that Parker was now a brother to everyone in the church, and would never be abandoned or alone with Christ.
And then it was time for the ceremony itself. Throughout the blessing Parker, as he had throughout the mass, was alert but quiet. He showed a little concern when the priest poured water on his head, but kept his cool.
“Good boy,” said Father. As he stepped forward to bless him again, my son sneezed in his face. The congregation laughed, and Father recovered nicely. “God bless you,” he said. “And how appropriate that is.”
Then, as promised, Father took Parkerand held him aloft. “I’d like you to meet Parker, the newest member of our church.”
I couldn’t suppress a smile when the whole church applauded.
Afterwards we headed to the hall. There was a dilemma over the food we’d ordered; either someone would’ve had to skip the ceremony to pick it up, or we’d grab it after mass.
We decided on the second option. Lisa went to get the food, and I went to the hall to greet the guests.
I guess we’d dallied too long at a short pit stop, because the place was packed when I got there.
Oops.
To make matters worse, I was now the sole host to fifty very hungry people who expected at least a smidgen of hospitality from me.
Let’s be clear: I’m not a social butterfly. I tried , and I think I did okay, but I all but bowed to the Mrs. when she finally walked in.
The party lasted most of the early afternoon. Lisa’s family showed up in full force, as did the usual roster from my side. Some of my friends and co-workers showed, as did Gracie’s teacher.
And, brother, we are breeders: there were a half dozen kids there under the age of four and three more under eleven. We’d thought ahead and brought a kid sized picnic table, a bag of toys, and coloring books. Even so I’m thankful to Lisa’s aunt, who thought to buy each of my girls a toy - which naturally became their favorite of the day.
It wasn’t Six Flags, but it was a fun and enjoyable afternoon. Not even an overcast and rainy day could change that.
And try as I might, I can’t remember Parker crying once all day.
Now if the bugger would just sleep more than an hour or two at night . . .
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